


Music without Sound

by 5catteredrosepetals



Category: Arata, Arata Kangatari | Arata: The Legend
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Novelization, expansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5catteredrosepetals/pseuds/5catteredrosepetals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A NOVELIZATION AND EXPANSION ON KIKUTSUNE'S PAST. How did a bright eyed and idealistic musican become so bitter and sadistic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music without Sound

Music without Sound

A novelization of Kikutsune’s past

Music was his life. It came so naturally to him like how flying was for birds. He loved the way the birds sang their morning songs to greet the day. He adored timbre of the fishermen who sang their sailor songs, and how the musicians in the plazas played their melodies to earn some money. Maybe for him, this was what sparked his interest in music. He begged and he begged his parents for music lessons, but they always told him that they just didn’t have the money for lessons. How could they afford them anyways when they were so poor?

But Kikutsune didn’t get discouraged. Some way or another, he was going to play music, and nothing was going to stop him. His first and only instrument that he made was a crudely carved and stringed miniature harp. The strings were barely staying where they were and the base had all sorts of weird splinters sticking out of it. But even so, he loved that harp to bits, even if you could barely get a note or two out of it. When he wasn’t doing his usual morning chores, he would spend his free time practicing on it. The way the crude strings bruised his tiny hands as he plucked strings only spurred him to continue trying.

One day, he decided to go out into the town plaza to try his luck at getting people to listen to his song. Sadly, they all seemed to laugh him and his crudely written song. They called him a joke and an insult to the world of music. All but one person. This man was a middle aged man well into his forties. He was getting close to that point where he felt the need to pass his songs onto another protegee. He didn’t know what it was, but he saw potential in this child. He saw the beginnings of something wonderful. And so he took the small child under his wing. He was going to nurture this kid into a musician that could even be worthy of the gods and the muses themselves.

Kikutsune’s parents were against this of course. How were they going to pay him? To their surprise, this man paid them instead to have Kikutsune to be his student. His playing with an actual instrument was clumsy and filled with mistakes. But under his watchful eyes, he watches Kikutsune pick up on things that would have taken people years to learn. The golden haired youth was a quick learner and fast to master things. He teaches him all the classic melodies he used to play in the Odeon in his prime. He teaches him what melodies to play for the king if he ever did come by, but most of all, he teaches him to play from his heart.

Kikutsune debuts in the world of music by the age of 15. People praise him and call him a musical genius, the best of his generation. His songs are beautiful, composed only something by gods. He could either raise people’s spirits with his peaceful melodies, or bring them to tears with a pluck of his harp. People flocked from all over the roman empire to see him perform, even the emperor himself. For Kikutsune himself, he was glad that he could make so many people so happy with his music. If they were happy, then so was he.

Little did he know that his happiness would be cut short by an unfortunate incident. It was some time after his debut into the world of music. The emperor had invited him and his orchestra to have dinner with him. It was a magnificent banquet with plenty of wine and food to be passed around. Perhaps this was why he didn’t realize that he had someone looking at him with envy and contempt. Not everyone was happy when they listened to his music. This one person was going to change his life forever in more ways than one.

After he had his fill of food and wine, Kikutsune went home to rest up for another day of practice. The king had commissioned the conductor to create a piece for only him and no one else. Tomorrow the conductor was going to start composing, so he had to be there early. Instead of taking his usual route home though, he decided to cut through the alley to get home faster, which served to be his greatest mistake. Not soon after he had gotten into the alley, he was jumped by a man wearing a cloak and a brass collar. The two fought desperately. Punches and kicks were thrown, but his assailant was bigger and stronger than he was. Kikutsune was a musician, not a fighter after all. He had no reason to fight. Before blacking out, the last thing he remembered seeing a bunch of other cloaked men joining in and beating him to a bloody pulp.

He remembers waking up a few days later in bed, his face and his ribs aching. How did he wind up here? Where were his assailants? And more importantly, why was it so quiet? Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. It wasn’t until his parents came in crying that he finally realized it; his hearing was gone! He couldn’t hear his parent’s hysterical sobbing, nor could he hear the sound outside the birds outside singing their morning songs. The world which had filled him with their wonderful noises and sounds had now gone deadly silent. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own heart breaking as he let out the loudest and most sorrowful wail the world had ever heard.

They tried everything to get hearing back. But no matter where they went, the doctors all told his parents the same thing. The damage to his hearing was permanent, and there was nothing they could do to bring it back. Kikutsune, now bitter and spiteful swore one thing to himself; find the bastard who did this to him and kill him with his own two hands. The bronze collar that his assailant wore that night looked familiar. Where had he seen it before? Wait, didn’t that collar belong to a slave who was owned by one of his rivals? He knew what to do, and who to find.

That night, he broke into his rival’s home. Armed with a knife, he charged at the aristocrat that took everything away from him and stabbed him over and over again. He couldn’t hear the other man begging for his life as he plunged the blade into his chest and gut. All he could see was his horrified face and blood everywhere. It stained the marble floor beneath them, their clothes, and his hands. He is in shock when the aristocrat’s guards come in and drag him away. He is sentenced the next day for murder. The punishment for murder was to be mauled to death by lions. The coliseum is filled with people who once used to come to his concerts and praise him for his talent. Now they are an angry mob, throwing stones at him and calling him a murderer. Not that he could hear them anyways. Even his old mentor is there in the audience watching him with sadness and disappointment.

All the blood in his body turns ice cold and the colour drains from his face as he sees them release the beast. He cant run away as it prowls closer to him. He cant get up and run. His legs had turned to jelly at that point. Even if he could run, there’s no was a skinny 15 year old boy could outrun a lion. Kikutsune curses his own existence as he watches the beast lick its chops. If he had never become a musician in the first place, then his hearing would have never been stolen from him, and he wouldn’t have had to murder that aristocrat. He braces himself for the cold feel of fangs and claws ripping into his flesh and tearing him to pieces when he feels the ground underneath him tremble.

He looks up to see people screaming and running for cover. What was going on? Beyond the horizon, he could see that the mountain that sat at the outskirts of their city wasn’t really a mountain at all. It was a volcano! He could see plumes of thick black smoke rising out of the mouth. Red hot rocks shot out into the sky and crashes into several buildings below. Lava oozes out of the side and incinerates all that happens to get within range.

The ground underneath him suddenly splits open and in he tumbles into the dark abyss. Hes scared at first, but then he realize he feels nothing inside. Nothing. The world robbed him of his ability to hear. A world without sound was a world that wasn’t worth living in. What point was there in him living anymore? And since he was going to die anyways, he may as well embrace death with open arms. He closes his eyes waiting for his body to shatter to pieces as he hits cold hard earth. Instead, he feels soft lush grass beneath him.

He opens his eyes and looks around in confusion. This wasn’t Pompeii! Where was he? He sees trees all around him as he scrambles to his feet. There’s an opening in the foliage as he scrambles out of the forest and finds himself at the foot of a small village. Who were these people and why were their clothes so weird? An idea springs to his mind. Maybe here, he could start anew. He wouldn’t have to worry about being called a murderer anymore, or live with never being able to play for an audience again. Here, he could be a normal teenager.


End file.
